


A Knife and a Meal

by Stariceling



Category: Toriko (Anime & Manga)
Genre: F/F, Fluff, Gen, Love means cooking, Pre-Femslash
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-07-11
Updated: 2013-07-11
Packaged: 2017-12-19 05:17:19
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,263
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/879879
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Stariceling/pseuds/Stariceling
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Nono receives a Melk knife crafted especially for her, and wants to give Melk something meaningful in return.</p>
            </blockquote>





	A Knife and a Meal

**Author's Note:**

> I blame the Toriko chat for this. (Also I love you guys.) I think this was Semi's idea, but I wanted Melk II and Nono to meet up, so I wrote it. Kinda slipped into pre-shippy hints. I have this headcanon that Melk is not very good with words because she doesn’t have the chance to talk to people often, but she tries to be straightforward. I wish I knew more about Nono. I imagine her having a food honor-ish cooking style.

After being given not just the chance to own a Melk knife, but to have one crafted for her, Nono had been moved to thank Melk in person. She arrived early enough to watch the woman who had earned the title of Melk the Second create the knife she had barely begun to dream about. At least, she was allowed to stay once she proved herself sensible enough not to interfere with a craftsmaster at work.

Nono watched Melk as intently as she might have studied another chef’s technique. Setsuno had always encouraged her desire to learn as much as she could about different types of cooking, but this was different. This was not a skill she could ever hope to emulate. She could feel that as she folded her small hands together to still their excited trembling.

Melk was as solid as the bladed shark’s fang she had selected for Nono’s knife, both in muscle and in confidence. Nono had encountered powerful presences before; bishokuya with shoulders too wide for normal doorways and intimidation that spilled carelessly over the whole kitchen. This was different. Melk’s aura of power was concentrated, too controlled to overwhelm. Even her breathing was calculated and steady, timed against each stroke of the blade across the whetstone. Nono caught herself breathing in sync, she was so focused on Melk’s work.

When Melk lifted the knife to admire her finished work her serious expression broke into a grin, brighter than the glint of light along the blade’s perfect edge. When she caught Nono’s eye the expression softened into a more polite smile, but it was too late for Nono to forget that beautiful flash of pride.

The moment she accepted the knife, Nono felt as steady as she had ever been in her life. As steady as Melk’s hands.

“Please let me cook you dinner, with this.” Nono was eager to use the knife that felt light and right in her hands. More than that, she wanted to offer Melk something that came from the bottom of her own heart in return for what she had seen Melk put into her knife. 

* * *

It was wonderful to watch someone using a knife she had forged with her own hands. Melk was mesmerized by the quiet young chef making full use of her kitchen. She forgot about the teacup cradled in her hands, watching Nono’s smooth movements.

Melk had thought of the strength the knife needed and the exact nature of the edge. She had thought of just how the blade might bend or vibrate in preparing special ingredients, and even how it would fit into Nono’s small hand. Yet seeing the knife in motion felt completely different from what she knew.

Nono gave the impression of moving slowly, yet between one blink and the next she would have completely prepared an ingredient with no apparent effort. Melk couldn’t even hear the knife hitting the cutting board. It was precision to the point that it projected an illusion of ease, each movement like the deadly whisper of the knife’s edge through still air.

If Nono was the knife’s edge, then Melk might be the spine. She was confident now in her own ability to play that supporting role by creating knives. She had sharpened the knives of thousands of master chefs, and felt she knew how each was used when she held them, but now she caught herself wondering if every knife became something more in the hands of the chef it was made for.

The rich aroma of the first dishes Nono brought to the table stirred Melk out of her thoughts. Nono’s cheeks were flushed apple-bright from the heat of the kitchen. The professionally polite smile on her lips became something engaging as her eyes crinkled with it.

From the first bite Melk felt tears prick at the corners of her eyes. The popcorn mushrooms served as an appetizer were light on her tongue, delicately spicy and gently reminding her how hungry she was after the day’s work. The taste was somehow complimented by the richer aroma of the next course sitting ready on the table.

When she looked up at Nono again she found the smile had disappeared from the petite chef’s face. Her mouth was open in a little ‘o’ of surprise.

Melk swiped self-consciously at the tears. She had always cried more easily when she was happy than when unhappy. “It’s. . . delicious,” she told Nono. She didn’t have words for the wonderful flavor on her tongue, let alone the scents of delights that promised to come next.

“Thank you.” Nono’s smile returned. Her eyes lowered, glancing along the line of dishes on the table as if they might be out of order. “But I couldn’t have done it without your knife.”

“The knife couldn’t have done it without you,” Melk answered impulsively.

Nono’s smile deepened. Even hidden behind her hand, Melk caught a glimpse of soft dimples.

For some reason she felt warmth prickling along her cheeks and pooling in her stomach. She quickly assigned the feeling to the hot food before her, and focused her attention on enjoying each dish. 

* * *

Sweat from the kitchen and sweat from the forge were indistinguishable. The washed both away in an atmosphere of steam and companionable silence.

After they had settled in the hot water, Nono glanced sideways at Melk. Her eyes darted over the full softness of Melk’s breasts, to the faint marks crossing under her arm from how they had been bound all day. Quickly she traced her gaze up the silken skin of Melk’s neck and the smooth line of her jaw to gaze at her face in profile.

Melk tucked a lock of damp hair behind her ear, returning Nono’s glance without turning her head. It was a moment before she sighed, relaxing lower in the water, and spoke, “I wish I could see chefs like you use my knives more often.”

“I can cook for you again any time,” Nono offered.

Melk put her hands up in protest, moving so quickly that she splashed Nono. “I didn’t mean you have to do that!”

“Of course,” Nono agreed quickly. “It would be better to see how more experienced chefs handle them.”

Distress coiled through Nono’s stomach, but she couldn’t pinpoint why. Melk’s face was red from the heat of the bath, and Nono could feel her heart racing from the same.

Melk lowered her hands and sat back again before slowly elaborating, “I wanted to say: I felt inspired, watching you. I would like to see how all different kinds of chefs work. But if I can make a reservation at your restaurant, I want to do that. I don’t expect you to cook for me for free.”

“I don’t have my own restaurant, but I would be happy to cook for you again. You don’t have to make a reservation,” Nono offered. This time Melk nodded, and seemed to understand that the offer was sincere.

Setsuno had taught her very clearly about how ingredients can choose the customer, so she understood the feeling of not just cooking, but cooking for someone. The desire to feed people was a constant guiding force. But for some reason it seemed as if that feeling had expanded inside of her. Nono thought of the happy tears pricking in Melk’s eyes, the warm curve of her smile, and something settled in her heart as if it had always meant to be there.

Nono didn’t only want to cook with one of Melk’s knives. She wanted to cook for Melk.


End file.
